


From His Heart Shall Spill

by Kai_Smol_Trashlord



Series: My Dear Amatus, Ma'Vhenan [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Attack on Haven, Flirting, Set during In Your Heart Shall Burn and after moving to Skyhold, Some Inquisitor/Dorian if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-13 21:44:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16480313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kai_Smol_Trashlord/pseuds/Kai_Smol_Trashlord
Summary: The attack on Haven comes, and all he can think of is that he wants them to live. He will do anything so that they can live and carry on their work, even if he must die to protect those he cares for the most.ORThe one where the Templars were chosen over the Mages, everything goes tits up, and a flirtation occurs out of nowhere.





	From His Heart Shall Spill

**Author's Note:**

> So my first fic featuring my main Inquisitor and the only man I ship him with, Dorian. I'm hoping to turn this into a series of one-shots, although knowing my motivation I'll try and fail. Ah well, let's enjoy while we can and see where this leads.  
> For some clarification, Roxanne is my other Inquisitor who I have already written a one-shot for (it's all smutty I'm afraid, although I could consider writing something more fluffy some time in the future). The universe I've set this fic in has two Inquisitors, although there is only one that bares the Anchor. As I add more fics to this series (one can only hope) the universe will hopefully come to life and make some more sense.
> 
> P.S. Can you tell this is my first time writing Dorian?

Bells ringing. People running. Panic everywhere. Celebrations are cut short and the success closing the Breach at the Conclave is forgotten as Cullen rallies everyone to the gates. Ilren is with Roxanne and Cassandra outside the Chantry when the chaos ensues, nausea churning his stomach. He may not know Cullen as well as Roxanne does, what with her spending so much time around him during moments of respite, but the panic is as clear in his voice to the elf as the blue of the sky during the day. 

The three of them are running with Cole in their wake. The boy sticks by Roxanne’s side the entire time, refusing to leave her side. When they arrive at the gates, Cullen is waiting for them. There are a few Templar soldiers nearby, preparing for whatever may be awaiting them. 

Cassandra steps forward, her sword at the ready. “Cullen?” 

“One watchguard reporting,” Cullen explains. “It’s a massive force, the bulk over the mountain.” 

“Under what banner?” Josephine asks as she moves towards him. 

The blond looks at her with a dead expression as he answers, and the single word that leaves his lips is not one that Ilren had been hoping to hear. 

“None.” 

Josephine looks at him incredulously. “None?” 

The red-haired elf approaches the gate with trepidation. A massive army that flies no banner? He may not know much about war or politics, but he’s pretty sure that this isn’t a good thing to be up against. They’re striking whilst many in Haven are drunk too; the perfect opportunity to launch an attack. Everyone is off guard and there’s no immediate plan of action. The sick feeling in Ilren’s stomach is only getting worse as the seconds tick by. 

Explosions and thuds outside the gate. The bright amber light of flame emanates from underneath. And then a voice. 

“If someone could open this, I’d appreciate it!” 

Ilren doesn’t hesitate to rush and open the gate when he recognises the voice. He’s only met him once, but the accent is what makes it so recognisable. Of course he would show up now of all times. Tevinter Mages are known for their dramatics, after all. 

The gates open to reveal lifeless bodies surrounding a single man. He’s crouched low, his staff supporting him as he looks up at the group. Ilren could never forget that ridiculous moustache or the darkened hair that was so perfectly groomed into place when they first met. Ilren races forth with Cullen beside him and the man’s legs shake as he straightens slightly. 

“Ah! I’m here to warn you. Fashionably late, I’m afraid.” The Mage stands up straight but immediately stumbles and falls against Cullen, who catches him carefully. “Mite exhausted. Don’t mind me.” 

Ilren takes a step back as the man rights himself and uses his staff for support. He takes a moment to steady himself before he speaks up again. 

“My name is Dorian Pavus, and I bring grave news from Redcliffe - an army of rebel mages, right behind me. They are under the command of the Venatori, in service to something called the ‘Elder Once’.” 

Ilren’s attention shifts to the mountains as Dorian turns to point towards the army of mages and the impossibly tall creature that looks down at Haven below him. 

“The woman is Calpernia. She commands the Venatori. For that… the Elder One,” Dorain informs them. The imposing figure, the Elder One, has a sneer that Ilren sees easily despite the distance. He’s not happy, that’s for sure. 

“They were already marching on Haven,” the Mage says. “I risked my life to get here first!” 

Roxanne is beside Ilren at once, her lips set in a severe line and her brows furrowed in determination. Even underneath a darkened sky, Ilren can see the deep scar that curves from the corner of her lip up towards her ear. It almost looks like an eerie extension of her mouth as she turns her burning gaze on their Commander. 

“Cullen! Give me a plan! Anything!” she demands. 

“Haven is no fortress. If we are to withstand this monster, we must control the battle.” 

Once Cullen and Roxanne have discussed and devised a plan, Ilren draws his bow and reaches into his quiver for his first arrow of this fight. He will not allow Haven to perish without a fight, and he will not stand by whilst others are in danger. As soon as Cullen is gone, he and Roxanne set off with Cassandra and Cole in order to do what must be done. 

Ilren will not allow Haven to fall. 

 

 

 

The elf’s lungs are burning as they run towards the Chantry. The bone-chilling screech of the dragon up above makes him work his legs faster, pump his arms harder. He grips his bow so tightly that he knows his knuckles are stark white like the snow. The doors burst open as Chancellor Roderick leans against one of them to allow citizens of Haven in. 

“Move! Keep going!” the chancellor barks. “The Chantry is your shelter!” 

Ilren forces Cassandra through first with Roxanne and Cole following behind her. He’s the last one in, the Mark on his hand glowing bright green even through his glove. He gulps down air as he grasps his knees and bends over. He quickly turns and stands up straight, however, when there’s a grunt behind him and the door closes. Dorian supports the chancellor as he practically carries him slowly to a wall. 

“A brave man,” the Mage says. “He stood against a Venatori.” 

Chancellor Roderick wheezes. “Briefly. I am no Templar.” 

Ilren watches for a moment as Dorian leads Roderick away before Cullen makes an appearance. His hair is a mess of stress and panic as he frantically looks around. Spotting the redhead, he makes a beeline towards Ilren.  

“Herald! Our position is not good. That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us.There has been no communication, no demands. Only advance after advance.” 

“There was no bargaining with the Mages either. This Elder Once takes what it wants. From what I gathered in Redcliffe, it marched all of this way to take your Herald.” Dorian is crouched beside the chancellor, who is now sat slumped in a chair with deathly pale skin. Ilren knows he won’t survive this battle, but he doesn’t say it. He won’t say it. There’s a lump forming in his throat as Roxanne stands beside him, listening to the conversation. He sees the grim expression on her face and he knows what she plans to do. Growing up with her has tipped him off to all of her tells and he won’t allow her to go through with it. 

“If it will save these people, he can have me,” the elf proclaims as he turns his attention back to Dorian. 

“An assassin might take you up on that. But this force has not seemed concerned about specifics. And such a promising start with the landslide. If only trebuchets remained an option,” the Mage replies, a bitter chuckle escaping his lips at the end. 

Cullen interjects. “They are, if we turn the last of them to the mountains above us.” 

“Cullen, do you understand what you’re suggesting?” Roxanne questions incredulously, stony glare focussed on the blond. “If we do that, we’ll be burying Haven and ourselves. We would likely be killed.” 

“This is not survivable now. The only choice left is how spitefully we end this,” Cullen responds with a level tone of voice. Ilren knows Roxanne wants to argue with him, but she’s too much like him to do so. She has a mind too similarly built to argue with his logic. Just like him, she has the mind of a soldier. A Templar. 

“Well, that’s not acceptable,” Dorian insists. “I didn’t race here only to ave you drop rocks on my head.” 

“Should we submit? Let him kill us?” 

“Dying is typically a last resort, not first! For a Templar, you think like a Blood Mage!”

“There is a path.” Chancellor Roderick’s voice cuts through the argument, drawing everyone’s attention to him. “You wouldn’t know it was there unless you’d made the summer pilgrimage. As I have. The people can escape. She must have shown me. Andraste must have shown me so I could… tell you.” 

Ilren takes the information in amongst the deadly silence of everyone in the room. Nobody wants to admit it, but this is the only chance they have at survival now. Ilren will not allow anyone else to die for him now. He won’t stand back and let everyone fighting for this cause, this human cause, die at the hands of some creature hellbent on getting its hands on him. 

He glances at the commander. “What about it, Cullen? Will it work?” 

“Possibly. If he shows us the path. But what of your escape?” Cullen answers with honesty, his concern genuine. 

The redhead has to look away at that. He averts his gaze to the floor so that he doesn’t meet Roxanne’s eyes. She can read him like a book, just as he can read her, and he knows that his resolve will only crumble if he looks into her startling green eyes. 

“Ilren…” Her voice is tender and fragile, like she could break upon touching. So she already knows what he plans to do. 

“Perhaps you  _ can _ surprise the Elder One,” Dorian murmurs as he approaches the elf. 

Ilren lifts his head and he immediately feels reassured that he’s doing the right thing. He finds it peculiar that Dorian, this man he only met once in Redcliffe, would be able to help him steel his resolve without doing anything at all. Perhaps it’s because he has accepted that this may well be his death. He knows that he’s more than likely to die out there, so why waste his last moments being distrustful of the man who came to warn them? 

“Inquisition! Follow Chancellor Roderick through the Chantry! Move!” Cullen orders as he marches away. Dorian helps the chancellor to walk once more and they begin to move away. 

“Herald… if you are meant for this, if the Inquisition is meant for this, I pray for you,” Roderick croaks before he is dragged away once more. 

Roxanne is at Ilren’s side, but he doesn’t look at her. He merely stares straight ahead at the doors to the Chantry. He feels movement behind him - likely Cole and Cassandra - and exhales calmly. 

 

 

 

Cassandra is gone. Cole is gone. Roxanne is gone. All of them escaped when the dragon returned. Ilren’s head hurts and his ears are ringing; likely an effect of hitting his head so hard on the ground. He can taste blood in his mouth from biting his tongue but he doesn’t care. As long as Roxanne and the others escape to continue the fight and somehow close the rifts, he doesn’t care how hurt he becomes or even if he dies. 

Hissing, Ilren hauls himself to his feet. He doesn’t need to look to know the Elder One is here now. Dread is pushing down on him like pressure. He merely glances up at the flames near the Trebuchet and his suspicions are confirmed. The Elder One is sauntering towards him in all his horrifying glory. His arms and fingers are long and bony and he’s so, so tall. The elf feels like an insect in comparison to this awful beast. 

The ground shudders and shakes as something lands behind him and he whirls round to find the immense, majestic dragon breathing down on him. It almost looks as if parts of it have decayed away to reveal bone. It’s a monster worthy of being the pet of the Elder One. The roar it lets out rips through the air and tears through Ilren’s very core. 

“Enough!” 

The Elder One’s voice is deep, as if it holds great wisdom. It sends shivers running down Ilren’s spine as he stands there amongst the flame and destruction. 

“Pretender. You toy with forces beyond your ken. No more.” 

Ilren stands his ground. “What are you? Why are you doing this?” 

“Mortals beg for truth they cannot have. It is beyond what you are, what I was,” the Elder One’s great, deep voice rippling through the air. “Know me. Know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One! The  _ will _ that is Corypheus!” 

Ilren swallows past the lump in his throat as the Elder One - Corypheus - raises a bony hand and points to the elf.  

“You will kneel.” 

Ilren grits his teeth. He needs to keep this monster talking so that the Inquisition has a chance at survival. Just a chance; that’s all they need. 

“Why are you here? You haven’t even asked for anything!” the redhead shouts. Shouting is good, he thinks to himself. Shouting replaces fear with anger and cloaks terror with a veil of righteousness. That’s what he tells himself, anyhow. 

“I ask for nothing, because it is not in you power to give. But that will not stop me.” Corypheus lifts his other hand to reveal an orb that suddenly glows and crackles with red energy. “I am here for the Anchor. The process of removing it begins now.” 

Suddenly, Ilren is on his knees and biting back sounds of pain with gritted teeth, spittle flying out of his mouth. The Mark on his hand is glowing brighter than before and it hurts. It hurts so bad. But he has to mask the pain. He can’t allow himself to give in otherwise there’ll be no chance of the others escaping to continue their work. 

“It is your fault, ‘Herald’. You interrupted a ritual years in the planning, and instead of dying, you stole its purpose. I do not know how you survived, but what marks you as ‘touched’, what you flail at rifts, I crafted to assault the very heavens.

Gasping, Ilren clutches at his left arm as red energy crackles like lightning around his Mark, mingling with the bright green of the very thing he was cursed with upon walking out of the Fade. The dragon circles round Ilren like a predator closing in on prey and its breath raises goosebumps upon his pale skin. 

“And you used the Anchor to undo my work! The gall!” 

The elf hisses as he raises his head to glare down Corypheus. He doesn’t believe in Andraste, only the Creators, but he knows that there must be some truth to the tales people tell of him. Roxanne herself has even said to him in the past that no-one but a god such as Andraste could have blessed him with such a gift - although he wouldn’t quite use the word ‘gift’. 

“It’s a boon from Andraste! She saved my life!” 

Liar, his thoughts echo though his mind. 

“Then your lady wished me to kill you, for her ‘boon’ is a beacon I cannot let escape,” Corypheus snarls before strolling over and lifting Ilren off the floor with about as much effort as would be needed to lift a little rag doll. “I once breached the Fade in the name of another. To serve the Old Gods of the empire in person. I found onl chaos and corruption. Dead whispers. For a thousand years I was confused. No more. I have gathered the will to return under no name but my own. To champion withered Tevinter and correct this blighted world. Beg that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the gods, and it was empty!” 

Ilren can no longer feel the circulation in his left arm. He’s not sure how long he’s been unable to feel it, really. All he knows is that he is likely to die once Corypheus is done with him. That thought gives him a little bit of comfort. He feels at peace with 

this nugget of knowledge as he hangs limply in the air, suspended by Corypheus’ cold hand. 

“Ah!” Ilren cries out in agony as he slams into the trebuchet, crumpling on the ground and hissing as he feels something shift in his torso. A broken rib, most likely. With any luck, it will pierce his lung and he will die here after making sure those important to him have gotten to safety. 

“The Anchor is permanent. You have spoiled it with your stumbling,” Corypheus spits venomously. 

Desperately, Ilren scrambles for the sword closest to him and jumps to his feet. He uses the trebuchet against his back to hold himself up as the dragon loyally stands at Corypheus’ side like a dog. 

“So be it,” the Elder One decrees. “I will begin again. Find another way to give this world the nation - and god - it requires.” 

Faintly, oh so faintly, Ilren hears the sound of the other trebuchet on the other side of Haven. He briefly glances up at the sky and he smiles widely for the first time that evening. At least now, when he dies, he knows that Roxanne, Cullen, Dorian, and all the others have managed to escape with their lives. 

Corypheus continues. “And you. I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. You must die.” 

Ilren looks around briefly until he finds what he’s looking for; the mechanism that will trigger the trebuchet. He’s so close to it that he could activate it and perhaps bury Haven and the enemy with it. 

“You expect us to surrender and kneel,” Ilren calls out. “We will not. You’ll face us all. When we choose!” 

He kicks the mechanism to activate the trebuchet and runs. He runs for his life as an explosion hits the mountain. He can already hear the avalanche as the dragon roars. His legs pump and his arms pump and his breathing is laboured, broken rib almost stabbing him internally. The rumbling of the avalanche closes in and he makes a dive for the gap between two boards of what he hopes is a walkway. As he plummets down into the darkness, the snow engulfs him and all turns to black. 

 

 

 

Skyhold, Ilren decides, is a much better place to set up than Haven. This fortress is what they needed from the start, although he won’t start an argument with Solas over it. The elven Mage must have had his reasons for keeping this place a secret for so long. One thing he likes about Skyhold more than Haven is the library. It’s quiet and few people choose to meet there to be social. He is surprised, then, that Dorian seeks him out there after a fortnight of being at Skyhold. 

The Mage approaches him with what Ilren could only describe as hesitation. He had asked a while back for no disruptions when he was alone in the library, but he finds he isn’t too bothered about Dorian coming over to disturb him. They hadn’t really spoken since the attack on Haven or since he and Roxanne had been named Inquisitors for the Inquisition. The redhead still isn’t sure why they didn’t just let Roxanne lead as she is the one that has been leading them all this time. Unfortunately, there is no arguing against it now that the decision has been made. At least this means that he and Roxanne can share the responsibilities and workload. 

“Lady Inquisitor has given me permission to stay.” 

Ilren glances up from his book to look at Dorian. He looks slightly nervous but for the most part he’s still his confident old self. That’s what Ilren thinks, anyway. He still doesn’t know the Mage all that well. 

“You seem to be staring, Inquisitor,” Dorian points out with a amused smile. 

Ilren shrugs, a playful smile of his own gracing his lips. “What can I say? I notice everything around here. Particularly you,” he replies flirtatiously. Flirting never was his sort of thing, but perhaps it would take his mind off his more recent stream of negative thoughts and feelings towards himself and his role as Inquisitor. He had tried flirting with Cullen, but the man was certainly not interested in men the way Ilren is. He had also tried flirting with Bull, of course, but Iron Bull just isn’t his type. But Dorian? Dorian could be fun if he played along. 

“Of course you have. That only takes eyes,” Dorian chuckles as he leans down, hands bracing him against the table. 

“Luckily I have those,” Ilren responds as he runs a hand through the short locks of red hair on top of his otherwise shaved head. 

Dorian throws him a smile that makes him purr almost inaudibly. “You do! A rather fetching pair.” 

“So, what was it that you needed, Dorian?” Ilren inquires eventually. “Was it just to inform me of Roxanne’s decision to allow you to stay?” 

The smile on the Mage’s face falters for but a moment. He sighs and alters his position so that he’s sitting on the edge of the table, arms folded. 

“There is something troubling you about what happened at Haven. Lady Inquisitor has said as much in the conversations we’ve had the past couple of weeks. I thought perhaps you might like to talk to someone about it.” 

Oh. 

The redhead rubs his earlobe between his thumb and forefinger. “Well, shit.” 

Dorian sighs and moves away from the table. “Of course you don’t want to talk about it. After what you’ve been through, it’s understandable.” 

The elf watches Dorian begin to move away and he makes a snap decision without even realising it. He snatches a hand out and grabs the Mage’s wrist to stop him leaving. The dark haired man, stunned, gazes down at him questioningly. Ilren quickly releases his wrist and looks him in the eye. 

“Stay,” he orders, “and I’ll tell you.” 

Dorian’s lips quirk upwards at the corners and he sits at the edge of the table once more, ready to listen. It’s only when Ilren gestures to the seat on the other side of the desk that the mansits himself there and he listens. Ilren finds himself much more at ease talking to Dorian about his thoughts than with Roxanne, although he doesn’t spill everything in his head just yet. He wouldn’t unleash the darker areas of his psyche on anyone, especially not someone he knows so little about. He feels like he’s been talking for hours when he’s done, when in reality it was likely only a few minutes. 

The conversation over, the two of them rise from their seats. Ilren feels lighter now after talking - like a huge weight has been removed from his shoulders. He didn’t realise or even think that talking to Dorian, this man he barely knows, had taken that weight away from him. He’s certainly not complaining. 

“Thank you for confiding in me, Inquisitor,” Dorian says. “I’ll keep this between the two of us; no need to worry the Lady Inquisitor unnecessarily.” 

Ilren nods, grateful, before glancing down at the books on the desk. “Thank you for listening. I would… appreciate it if you would allow me to do so again if I need to.” 

There’s a chuckle and the elf raises his head. Dorian is smiling and shaking his head, arms folded. “You need not ask, your worship. I would appreciate it if you came to me with your thoughts more often as well.” 

The Mage turns to leave once more and the words are out of Ilren’s lips before he can stop himself. 

“Ilren. You can call me Ilren, Dorian.” 

Dorian glances at the elf over his shoulder. “As you wish… Ilren.” 

The dark haired man disappears down the stairs and the elf doesn’t even think to try and conceal the blush that flushes his face pink. 

**Author's Note:**

> Did I mention I'm awful at ending fics? Well, I just did if I hadn't already. I hope you all enjoyed!


End file.
